The Fall of Eleum Loyce
by DezoPenguin
Summary: The great rampart city of the frozen north had stood as a bastion against Old Chaos for decades, driven by the force of one man's great soul. But corruption came at last in the form of a sinner's desperate call to flame, and now all that is left is one last, final stand to save some fragment of what had once been greatness.
1. Chapter 1

The Ivory King gave a great, ragged sigh.

 _My lord?_

Alsanna's voice was no voice at all, but an echo in the mind of the one she "spoke" to. For this, she was called the Silent Oracle by the people of Eleum Loyce.

"The portals will open."

The King pushed himself upright, thrusting the coverlet off his body. Even in middle age, the former knight of Forossa possessed the body of a warrior, skin marked by the scars of the countless battles of his youth over hard muscle. Life as a ruler had not added fat to his body, for he was always the first to take up arms when needed, commanding his knights from the front line of the battle. His hair and beard were shot through with gray and lines marked the edge of his stormcloud eyes, but there was not a hint of weakness in his form and figure.

Weakness, though, was what he was confessing.

 _No; I cannot believe it..._

"You must."

 _No!_ she protested again.

He nodded once, solemnly.

"I can hold them no longer."

A shudder ran through her. Alsanna knew all too well what his statement meant. The great cathedral the King had reared above Old Chaos had one purpose: to focus the power of his own soul, his own will on the portals that led into the lost land of flame. When those portals had opened, he had led the expedition that beat the demons back, as legend said the host of the ancient Lord of Sunlight once had done, and he had sealed them away, keeping them barred from the world.

But those portals had been breached. Like the gates of Eleum Loyce itself, what could not be battered down by any amount of force could be opened from inside with relative ease. It was the curse of the undead that lay at the heart of it all, he thought. The fear of corruption, of going Hollow and losing forever one's very self had corrupted the fallen priestess that had been once thought a saint, and she had descended to Old Chaos in the desperate hope that the flame of that Chaos could re-ignite the spark of life within her.

She had been wrong.

And the spark that she had lit ate away at the borders, degrading the force of the King's very soul.

 _I hate her_ , Alsanna snapped bitterly. Her hands were clenched so tightly that the nails bit into her palms.

The King sighed. He reached out, his big hand closing around one pale fist.

"Ah, Alsanna, I know you say it only for love of me, but you know too well what drove her."

 _I...I know. She had no one to stand beside her, no one to offer hope as I have._ She paused, took a deep breath. _But_ _I still hate her for what she has done to you._

"She is paying for her sin, now and for always," he said. "And despite the harshness of her punishment, I think that the greatest pain will e'er be dealt by her own hand. She loved this city as did you or I, and she has been the cause of its downfall, and that will haunt her forever."

Alsanna's dark eyes flashed, and though she did not give voice to her thoughts, it was plain that she thought that only fitting.

Then, she caught the meaning in what the King had said, and she flinched back.

 _Downfall? You cannot mean—_

"I do," he said flatly. "When the portals burst open, the demons of Chaos will swarm forth, and the fire of Chaos shall be not far behind. They will rage with their confinement, and Eleum Loyce will be consumed."

 _No!_ _You cannot mean it!_

"I can and I do." He gave a heavy sigh. "It is a hard thing to admit, that the work of my life will fall. I made it my quest to suppress this gateway to Chaos, and men made me a King for it. And I tried to make this citadel into a shelter for those who would follow me, and offer them protection." His lips quirked into a crooked smile that made his moustache bristle. "Even a dark and silent lady who would not beg my aid with a single word." His eyes twinkled with love, and she felt the answering pulse of warmth within herself.

His face fell, then, as the happy memory of their meeting gave way to the present in his thoughts.

"Perhaps it was my own hubris, believing myself the equal of the great champions of the past, believing nothing could lay low anything that I willed to rise. Or perhaps it was merely fate, turning its wheel as it will."

He pushed himself off the bed, rising to his feet. He was pleased to see that his body, at least, answered his will; he did not tremble.

 _We will not allow the city to fall_ , Alsanna declared. _You and your host tamed Old Chaos once—_

"When its fire was fading, and this gate far from its source. But its new flame is fresh, and though it will burn out it time, that time is not now."

 _None of us will allow your dream to be abandoned. The knights, the priestesses, from the greatest champion to the lowliest retainer, none of us will abandon you._

"Ah, Alsanna, do you think I do not know that? That I doubt your hearts—yours, above all?" He laid his hand on her shoulder. "This city will fall, but a city is but stone and wood. What matters most is the people. _My_ people, all of you, who chose to trust me as your King and to make my dream your own. Do you think I would abandon you? Would I ask you to march to your deaths on my behalf?"

It was a rhetorical question, but she slowly shook her head.

"Then I give to you my trust, Alsanna."

He let her go, then walked across the room, to a large rosewood cabinet mounted high on the wall, and opened its latticed glass doors. From within he lifted a strange sword of two curved blades that twined together like serpents, one ivory-bright and one coal-dusk.

"Eleum Loyce," he said. It was the name of the sword, as it was the name of the land. He turned to her, extending the blade across both open palms. "I entrust it to you. Keep it safe, now that I cannot."

She swallowed nervously, but she reached for the sword with shaking hands. When she reached for it, she knew what it meant.

 _Yes, my lord_.

He gave another deep sigh, and this time, there was a smile on his face. There was no joy; he did not speed this parting. But he was content, for the trust in his keeping had been passed. He placed his hands on her shoulders, then bent his head to hers and kissed her warmly. She wrapped her arms around him, and clung to him fiercely, and tears streamed from their eyes, but no more words were said.

Then they parted, and he rang for his page, telling the youth to call for his arms, and summon the knights of Eleum Loyce to the cathedral.

~ X X X ~

Before he had come to the frozen north, the Ivory King had been a knight of Forossa, a land of warriors and champions. The elaborate armor of Forossa's Lion Knights was merely one example among many of the engraved steel faces worn by those who followed the way of Faraam. Their custom was that except among family and intimates, they greeted the world from behind their metal masks, for war was always lurking and a knight must always be ready to take up arms. It was because of this that they wore such distinctive equipment, as unique among them as the fleshly features of a human face were. The King kept to this custom even in far-flung Eleum Loyce, so that the face engraved on his crowned helm was the one most of his people knew him by.

The Loyce Knights, ranked before him, kept the custom of wearing their helms in public as well, though theirs were each identical, for unlike the Forossans among his war-host, the Knights were mostly foreigners who had flocked to the King's banner. Many among the younger men and women had even been born within the rampart of the ivory capital.

He was proud of them all, was the King. Each stood loyal and steadfast before him, weapons at the ready, knowing that the end was nigh, and that he was about to ask them to offer the ultimate sacrifice, the last duty of a knight.

"Knights of Eleum Loyce," his voice rang out, echoing through the vaulted cathedral. "You have seen the signs, have heard the words of the sages. You know what is to come. After so many years penned with our ramparts, Old Chaos stirs at the last, its ire rekindled by sinful treachery."

A stir ran through the ranks, but none moved, instead waiting upon his orders.

"There is no time to hide from reality. The portals _will_ be thrown open, and Chaos _will_ stir. This is the cold truth that we face. Eleum Loyce cannot stand against the demon host. Thus, I am giving the order for the city to be evacuated. The Northwarders shall shepherd our citizens to the south, across the frozen wastes that will give even a burning demon pause. The heart and soul of Eleum Loyce shall live on. But! In order to give them the chance to escape, a rearguard must fight a delaying action, to hold Chaos at bay for as long as possible. I, myself, shall lead that rearguard.

"There is only one natural bottleneck that can serve to hold them. We cannot fight a running action within the city streets and across its rooftops. That bottleneck is the gateway to Chaos itself. There, the demons' advance can be slowed, where only a few may pass through the gates at a time. Only by fighting them there can we buy the time needed for the people to flee. However, there is a price to this. The golems crafted here are tied to the rampart; they cannot follow me down to chaos or their magic will fail, degenerating into primal ice. Thus, I must ask for you, the knights of Eleum Loyce to descend alongside me, knowing well the price that will be paid. I do not believe any will return from this stand. Even were we not to fall in battle, the corrupt flame of Chaos before long will profane our bodies and souls.

"I will not command that you come with me. Sir Morion, Sir Deric, Dame Irinel, and Sir Tarthen, I do command: you shall remain here and assist in the evacuation in all ways. I have no doubt that no matter what we do, some of the creatures of Chaos will burst forth from the fume-pits and warrens beneath our city. Human hands must turn against them; magic can do only so much. You shall lead our defenses. For the rest of you, you have earned the right to choose."

He said no more, but lifted his great ivory sword and turned. He did not look at the slight darkness that watched him from behind a pillar, did not acknowledge her in any way for fear that his resolve would break. Instead, he marched towards the pit that descended into Chaos, his steel-shod feet echoing off the tiles.

From behind him, though, came a roar of a hundred voices, a hundred greatswords and axes and halberds thrust skyward, and as one the Loyce Knights marched forward. But for those he had ordered to stay, they followed their King to a man.

He had never been more proud, for the worth of a king may be measured by the quality of his followers.

~X X X~

The evacuation of Eleum Loyce did not go smoothly. The citizens knew that something was wrong, of course. The trial and exile of the Saint, the death of the priestesses in the attempt to stop the rekindled Chaos, these things had left a pall over the city. The people waited nervously for the word from their King, for the next step, but they had not expected this. They had not expected the order to flee.

Deric could not blame them. He himself could hardly believe it. The Loyce Knight had wanted to stand at the side of his King. That was the duty of a knight, and yet...the King had set him a different mission. He understood that the King wanted to protect his people, but he still could not help but wonder: was there some flaw in himself, something his monarch had seen that made him leave Deric behind? Could the King not trust him to stand against Old Chaos?

He turned to look at his fellows, wondering if they were feeling the same doubts. Morion, Irinel, and Tarthen were all reputable knights, warriors who had stood steadfast by their King on various duties in the past. Irinel was over fifty years old, her hair more gray than black now, a Forossan who had come with the Ivory King in his initial host. Tarthen had won his way to knighthood by strength of arms, spending his first ten years at arms as a common soldier before being recognized for his skills and his service. Morion, by contrast, was a young noble from far-off Jugo, drawn to Eleum Loyce for the nobility of the fight against Chaos as it had initially drawn the Ivory King himself. There was nothing that bound the four of them especially, other than that all were of the first rank in their combat strength. Indeed, only Sir Fabian, knight-commander of the war-host, was clearly their superior among the Loyce Knights.

Of course, the blank faces of their helmets gave no sign of what was inside their hearts.

"We had better go," Irinel said. "Time is of the essence."

Morion nodded. Though the youngest, he also had the natural air of command that came with his birth.

"We'll need to go in multiple directions. Irinel, you have the most experience dealing with the Northwarders, so you should take command there and help them guide the populace out of the outer city. Tarthen, go to the garrison and help deploy troops to watch for any demons who make it into the city so we can respond in force. We can count on the golems to fight, but not to act intelligently as a group of soldiers, and with the King not here, the Seven Beasts will act on their own. I'll take command at the Inner Wall and guide the evacuation of the palace and cathedral staff, then move to aid where necessary. And Deric..."

"Yes?"

"There is one task our lord would want done above all else. You need to find the Lady Alsanna and keep her safe. Get her out of the city to safety at all costs."

 _That will not be necessary._

The four of them snapped around. The voice had echoed in their minds, not out loud, but it nonetheless had a direction to it, a sense of place that drew them. From a shadow she emerged as if she had been one with it, skin pale against the darkness of her hair and dress.

"My lady, Sir Morion is right," Deric said. "Of all those who depend on him, you are the one that His Majesty would protect first and always."

 _I understand that. But...my lord left without offering me a single word of command. All he gave me was this._

They saw, now, what she held, the King's twin-bladed sword. She took a deep breath.

 _I cannot abandon him now. Though he would not let me stand beside him, I cannot simply turn and flee, as much as I want to. And he has left Eleum Loyce within my care._ She shook her head. _I cannot abandon it to Chaos._

"We understand your feelings, my lady," Irinel said, "but there is nothing that we can do."

Alsanna nodded.

 _We must protect the people of this citadel. Do as you were commanded, and secure their safety._

"And you, my lady?" Deric said.

 _When that is done, then return for me. But I will not leave my lord while there can be any hope. Please, go and fulfill his wishes._

Deric bowed.

"As you will it, my lady. But remember: our King commended you to our care, and we will not stand forsworn. We shall return."

His fist tightened around his greataxe, and he turned and followed his companions into the frozen streets.

~X X X~

The streets of Eleum Loyce burned.

The city was carved of stone, of great blocks lifted into place and fitted to foundations that had been hewn out of the living mountain. But there were fittings, ornaments, shutters, signs, pennants, all the trappings of human life that were made of wood and cloth, and these could be set alight.

The first of the demons were small, little more than bugs the size of a kitten, but dull orange light leaked from between chitinous plates and when they spat what came from their mandibles was not venom, but raw lava. They were little threat to the city's defenders: when they came near the golems on the ramparts they were cut and pierced, when a retainer saw them a staff would come down and break chitin and spill demon blood, and when they fell under the eye of a warder then a flick of a hand would direct a bolt of soul-light into them from yards away. But the paths of their swarming did not always take them into threats, and they brought their flame with them.

And they were only the beginning.

It was Tarthen who was the first of the knights to encounter something more. The demon was vaguely humanoid, but nine feet tall, with long, spindly limbs with extra joints. It had five-fingered hands, but the fingers were spread out at equal distances like the arms of a starfish, each tipped with saber-like claws. Rotting, vestigial wings protruded from its back, and all five of its eyes burned.

Three soldiers of his garrison escort raised their crossbows and fired. The demon twisted and flexed, its spindly body bending like an upright snake, and the bolts shot past harmlessly. It spun and pounced at the nearest soldier, who dropped his bow and tried to draw his broadsword, but he would be far too late. Tarthen lunged forward, getting his shield up in between the demon and its victim, ramming the heavy plate into the creature's chest. Its arms wrapped around the shield, claws clutching for him, but the claws slid off the Loyce Knight's pauldron and helm with a grinding screech. Tarthen grunted, heaved, and bashed the shield into it again, knocking it backwards away from him. His greatsword came up, and he brought it down in a sharp diagonal cut. Once, then twice he hacked, and the demon's slim torso shattered in two, falling to the ground. Both halves thrashed wildly on the pavement, and then lay still.

He took a deep breath, shouldered his weapon, and started looking for his next target.

~X X X~

The drums of battle echoed in the depth of the King's soul.

This was, at the end of it all, among all the duties, the burdens he had taken upon himself, what he was born for. From his boyhood, he had been raised a warrior of Forossa. As a noble of that country, his duty had been plain. His destiny might have led him to the way of magic, or the way of miracles, rather than the path of the sword he had eventually walked, but those were merely options suited to an individual's character. All paths, for one in his station, led to the battlefield.

He had chosen his battles, though. He had not pit his strength against the enemies of his king and country on the war-front, either in defense or conquest. Rather, he had sought out the beasts and monsters that prowled the land, creatures that threatened innocent folk. The crusade against the demons had been more of the same.

There was a clarity to it, he thought. It was almost a relief to sidestep the rending claws of a towering bull-headed beast, to hack into its leg at the knee with his greatsword, to duck his shoulder as flame washed over him, enduring the heat so he could swing again and sever the limb, bringing the giant creature down with a crash like thunder. In the heat of battle there was his strength, his will, and his sword; there was no need to consider strategy, economics, diplomacy, to weigh the concerns of men and women and balance their interests, to do all for the weal of his people as a true King must.

Indeed, there was no need even to think of tactical considerations. There was no thought of _winning_ this battle. It could not _be_ won. All that had to be done, was to endure as long as he could.

From the burning portals of black iron crawled more demons. Serpentine creatures with human faces and skin like stone. Huge, hulked beasts with heads like goat skulls. Slender, long-limbed figures with long claws or clutching crude knives and spears. Things that seemed part insect and part soft-fleshed, twisted things from the depths of the sea. Flame seeped from open maws and ran along limbs like pulsing veins, dripped from wound-like sores.

The Ivory King raised his blade again. Sky-blue light like the frost-strewn fields outside wreathed the sword. To his left and right stepped forward the knights who still stood.

With a howl of defiance, they charged into the flames.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mama, I can't find her!"

"Then just leave it, Mary," Vaya the stonemason said as she swung the satchel with her tools over her shoulder.

"Mama, I need her!" her four-year-old's voice was insistent.

"Mary, she's just a doll. We have to _go_ , _now_." The evacuation orders had been specific as to time and urgency, and from some of the sounds that were filtering through the streets, they had come none too soon.

It was so impossible to believe. Eleum Loyce was more than a city. It was a fortress, purpose-built for one task. From the work of farmers wrenching food from the hostile climate, to artisans like Vaya crafting the items needed for the city's populace, to the common armsmen to the sages, the priestesses and their servants, the knights, and the King himself, its people were all soldiers manning the rampart in one way or another. She'd lived there for twenty years, the best days of her life, and now it was all coming to an end.

Part of her wanted to stay, to fight, to stand in support. Even if she had no skill at arms, she could still help those who could, carry arrows or healing medicines or whatever was needed by the soldiers and knights. And if it came to it, well, she could swing a hammer as well as any even if it was blocks of stone and not moving enemies. To flee sounded like an act of cowardice, a betrayal of every ideal her King had inspired in her.

If it wasn't for Mary, Vaya knew, she would have rather stayed until the end, and if Eleum Loyce burned, then she would burn with it at the last. But...

"Mary, let's—"

But the girl wasn't there. While Vaya had been caught up in thought, she'd gone, scuttled back into the house to search for her doll.

With a muttered curse, Vaya went back inside. The front room was empty, so she went at once into Mary's bedroom in the back. Her daughter was there, half-under her bed.

"Mary, I told you we had to _go_." Not waiting, she stooped and grabbed Mary's arm, pulling her back out from underneath. Mary squirmed in protest, trying to pull loose so she could grab her doll from the back corner.

"Mama, she's—"

Then the ground exploded, the stone floor bursting apart, the bed flung upwards as the wooden frame and straw mattress were ripped to bits by the force. Vaya and Mary were hurled back, nearly through the door, sprawling on the floor. Heat washed over them, heat pouring off the body of the massive demon that had torn free from below.

For the most part it looked human. Naked to the waist, with fur rags wrapped around its waist, it could have been some barbaric warrior but for the clawed feet. Its head, though, was a bare skull, vaguely goat-like with its long muzzle and side-spreading horns, but with four burning eyes. Both hands held great, serrated cleavers that it had, apparently, used to tear its way up through the ground.

With a sweep of her arm, Vaya pushed her daughter behind her. "Mary, _run_!" she screamed, even as she tried to get to her feet. There was no way that she could stand against this thing; even if she had a weapon it would swat her aside without trying, but if she could just be an _obstacle_ for a few seconds it might allow Mary to get out into the street and have a chance to find safety, find _someone_ to protect her. The great cleavers swung up, then down with remorseless power—

—only to clang off the blade of a massive greatsword.

"Try it with someone who can fight back," growled the female Loyce Knight that stepped over Vaya's prone form.

The tiny bedroom was no place to swing a greatsword. Ceiling and walls hampered every stroke, and the hole in the floor limited the footing. But the demon was just as hampered; its weapons were as bulky and its huge height forced it into a cramped posture. The knight threw her body into it, driving her shoulder against its chest so that in close it could not properly swing its weapons with any force, any extension of its arms. It responded by wrapping those arms around her, crushing her in a bear-hug with enormous force. Metal screamed as her armor ground against itself at the seams, weak points bending under the pressure.

Growling, Dame Irinel crashed the billed front of her visor into the demon's maw, shattering teeth. It howled in rage and pain, and for an instant its grip slackened. She acted at once, but not to escape. Instead, she used the loosened grip to raise her arms, left hand grabbing her sword halfway to shorten its effective length, and drove the point up into the demon's belly, the upward angle spearing the blade through viscera and into the thing's heart.

She wrenched the sword free, letting the corpse fall back down the hole. A wet thudding sound suggested that it had landed on one or two of its fellows swarming up from beneath.

"Let's get you out of here," she said to Vaya. "This place isn't getting any safer."

~X X X~

 _Eleum Loyce is dying._

The thought echoed in Deric's mind as fire exploded around him. He lashed out with his heavy pole-axe, the double-bitted head tearing through a man-sized demon with three legs and two heads. Eyes like boils of green lava popped as the thing died, spattering his armor with sizzling toxin that failed to reach skin. A centipede-like thing skittered towards his feet; he crushed its head with the axe's iron-shot butt.

It meant nothing.

Though the Ivory King had spoken plainly and earnestly to his knights and given his absolute command to the citizens of the rampart city, there was a part of Deric that had simply not accepted the totality of it. Eleum Loyce was a massive work of cold, bleak stone, a fortress that dwarfed any he had ever known or heard of, a rival to the cities of the gods whispered about only in legends. Had it been built in Forossa or Volgen or Alken, armies could have hurled themselves at it fruitlessly for a hundred years without so much as marking its walls.

But then, such a rampart could only have been built here, at the end of man's world and the edge of something else, for a war that was not fought against men. The army that assailed it was one that came from within, and it scorned the rules of battle that human armies lived by. Even the creeping terror of the undead curse, the hollowing plague that whispered at the edge of the population and had driven the desperate sinner to try and channel the purging fires of Old Chaos to relight it, was nothing compared to this horror. Stone impervious to mere force melted into viscous liquid, glowing with burning heat. Flames roared from windows as every stick of wood, very scrap of cloth within the buildings were set alight. The sounds of steel and claw and crystal echoed from everywhere, a percussive beat to back the roaring flames' melody, and the screams of the dying were the howling aria that rose above it all.

Whether the evacuation worked or not, whether the Ivory King's people died beneath demon fangs or fell on the journey south across the frozen waste or lived on to carry their memories, it did not change the truth.

 _And what of Old Chaos?_ he thought grimly. _Will it be satisfied to raven and burn here, or will it spill forth in the end and come south as well, to mock our failure?_

Perhaps it would. But that did not change his own duty. A Loyce Knight might fall, but he did not surrender.

Ahead of him, two laden carts, their bulging contents held fast beneath canvas tarpaulins had become lodged together, the shaft of one hooked behind the front rear corner of the other, victims of two drivers too desperate to escape to heed their way. Servants and masters alike had set their shoulders to the boards to try and separate them again.

"Leave it!" Deric shouted, charging towards them. "Get yourselves moving out of here!"

One of the wagon-owners, a heavy-set man wrapped in rich purple velvet trimmed in dark fur, straightened with a look of affront.

"Leave the wagon? Sir Knight, all of my—"

What the man had been or what his possessions were was left unfinished as the retaining wall to the right exploded open, showering chunks of stone across the wagons and citizens alike. One great stone shattered a wheel, settling the point permanently. Another crushed the skull of a brawny servant where he worked. Blows and bruises took three more, but these were only the prelude.

Through the gap came a massive figure, at least thirty feet tall and nearly as wide. Its belly was immense, thick and squat, and its legs were bowed nearly double as if they were bent under its own weight. The thing looked to be made of living stone that bent and flexed as if it were flesh, and it glowed with seams of bright flame that flowed all over its body Its mouth seemed too small for its teeth; the lips were shrunken back to reveal dagger-like fangs and tusked canines, while sheafs of horns crowned its head, antler-like.

It carried a weapon, a giant hammer with a bulbous head that was not forged, but rather ripped from a sheet of living rock. And despite its ungainly appearance, the straying demon proved in the next moment that its movement was by no means slow, as the head of that hammer whipped down, utterly obliterating one of the wagons and crushing the purple-clad man and two of his lackeys in an instant.

Screaming, one of the other men set off running, sprinting down the street. Another snatched up a crossbow and fired a bolt directly into the thing's teeth. It had no notable effect beyond fixing the demon's attention, but that served its purpose. Through the gap the creature had smashed came a figure of jagged blue crystal, one of the King's golems, sprinting directly towards the demon. Before Deric's eyes, the golem's arm sprouted a six-foot blade which it slashed one-handed with as much ease as if it had been a dagger, and carved a gouge along the demon's thigh that wept lava.

The demon's hammer whipped around, batting the golem away; the defender was flung twenty feet away and smashed to a thousand pieces of ice against the stone wall. In the next moment, the demon opened its mouth and spewed forth a spray of rock chunks, elemental stone called forth by its inherent pyromancy. Deric was just in time to grab the arm of the crossbow-wielder and swing him out of the way behind his armored body; he himself took solid, armor-denting hits to his left side and shoulder, and those had been only glancing blows on the fringe of the attack!

He turned, coming up to a guard position with his axe in both hands. Perhaps he could dodge the demon's swings for a time, break the thing's legs out from under it with the weapon's puissant magic. In truth, though, he did not like his chances, for his first mistake would be his last.

Then, with a scream as if the air itself was being cut, great spears of azure crystal burst through the demon's body from behind, tearing through its bicep, torso, and belly, five in all. It reeled with the sudden, shocking wounds, and then a great figure, nearly as large as the demon itself, pounced on it. Massive feline jaws closed on its neck while four paws rent shoulders and thighs, and the titanic weight of the great white tiger brought the thing down, where the rough rock of its body shattered apart on the frozen stone street. Aava, the Ivory King's pet, raised its muzzle, burnt with the flaming blood of its prey, and howled its triumph to the cold skies, and in that moment Deric howled with it.

In the next moment, though, the fresh thought of duty flooded into his mind. Among the seven beasts that served the King, Aava's duty had been the defense of what its master most treasured in all the world: the person of the lady Alsanna. And while Deric had been willing to bow to the lady's will and aid in the defense of the city while the evacuation was proceeding, the threshold had now been crossed and he could delay his king's will no longer.

Shouldering his axe, he turned his steps towards the grand cathedral and set off at a dead run.

~X X X~

Weapons rose and fell with the methodical efficiency of an artisan's tools. Axes were driven into stony flesh. Swords tore free showers of flaming blood. The knights of Eleum Loyce fought on in the heart of Chaos, holding off the swarms of misbegotten corruption that flowed out, flowed free towards them.

They had gone beyond human emotion at that point. Loyalty to their lord, hatred for their enemy, fear for their lives, all of it had been purged in the tides of battle. They fought on because there was nothing else but the fight; they fought with all the passionless, remorseless efficiency of a carpenter driving nails, a mason laying stone.

And as they lost the fire of their passion, the driving force of their souls, a new flame began to kindle within them. It came from without, swirled around them, scorching ivory armor black with char and soot. It seeped into their flesh, warping them inside their armor, changing the bodies within in ways that better suited the environment that surrounded them, and it drowned the flame of their souls in the profane light of inhuman things.

The great black iron portal rose from the ground, driven upwards as if thrust forth by an intolerable pressure from below, bursting up like the spume of a furious volcano. The iron doors creaked wide, and the burning heat of the lost heart of Chaos poured out. Instinct made the King turn to face it, watch the great shadow swell up, blocking the glow of the flame, yet shining with the heat of its own tainted light. He would have raised his sword, set himself to the next task put before him...

...but he could find no reason to. What was there, his mind dimly recognized, was nothing but another creature like himself. For that was the truth of the Old Chaos. Its horror was not that it destroyed.

It _consumed_.

~X X X~

Deric's armored boots rattled, metal on marble flagstones as he rushed up the length of the cathedral hall. Alsanna flinched at the sudden intrusion, then turned, recognizing the sound for what it was.

"The last of the carts has gone," he said. "Morion sealed the gates. I don't know how long they'll hold, though. The fires are out of control now, and those things spreading them...I'd never have made it here myself, if Aava hadn't taken one of them down. My lady, there is no more time; we have to go _now_ , before it gets any more out of hand. If we are to mourn our fallen, we must first stand and survive."

Before she could answer, though, the response came from another direction, an echo drawn from deep below them, a throaty roar like great stones clashing together, grinding savagely as it drew closer. It was savage, primal, and Alsanna quailed at the sound, actually trembling at what it foretold.

It grew, it swelled, and it exploded from the depths beneath them, a shriek of the fury, the rage that was the essence of pure Chaos, that seethed in its tainted flames. Chaos was without control, without restraint; it would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left for it to consume.

And it was there.

It reared above them, forty feet tall if an inch, its curling ram-horns nearly scraping the ceiling. Its great wings were laced with flame that surged through their membranes as if it was blood. Perhaps, to the demon, it was. Its clawed hands were huge, easily able to close about an armored knight and crush him into a broken knot of metal, or impale them on talons like greatswords. Its eyes were so bright with flame it was as if the Chaos fire had burned its way out of him from the inside, leaking wounds from which seeped the lava-like flame.

It was a lord of its kind, a prince of demons, and its presence meant only one thing.

 **"Your kind have stood here too long!"**

Alsanna wanted to scream. She shrank back from the titanic fiend, recoiling a step, then a second.

 **"You have tried to contain Old Chaos. You have starved us for fuel, kept us choking in our own dying stone. But our flame has been rekindled, and like a fuse caught alight by a single spark, we have caught light, and in our rage it shall be** _ **you**_ **who burns!"**

Tears welled up in the Oracle's eyes.

"We shall not fall here!" Deric cried from behind her. "The knights of Eleum Loyce shall forever stand fast, as our King wills it!" 

The demon prince roared with laughter.

 **"Your king? That little man twists in the flames of Chaos, now!"**

A tiny, whimpering sound welled up in the back of the Oracle's throat.

 **"He fought valiantly, for a time. Many of our lesser brethren fell at his hand, but none can fight Chaos forever. His soul has been suffused, brought into our aegis forever."**

 _No!_

The scream beat against their minds, the knight's, the demon's, perhaps throughout the whole city. Alsanna had known this would be the end. Even the Ivory King's great soul could hold out no longer. With the fire of Chaos birthed anew, his will could not hold the portals shut. The strength of his arm could slay demons, but the accursed Chaos would warp and twist whatever came within its control. Burnt and blackened within and out.

 _No..._

A whimper, now, grief and realization driving out denial. She could not shame his memory now by fearing the truth.

The tears flowed freely, now, streaming down her cheeks.

 **"Bow down to us as he has! Is it not your duty to follow your King?"** the demon prince mocked.

It would be so easy to submit. Alsanna wanted to fly to her lord, to stand alongside him again even in his corruption. But that was just her fear talking. Her instinct, craving shelter and protection. She knew, even in her quailing heart, that there was no shelter to be had again. The demon prince's presence was proof of it; whether he spoke the truth and the Ivory King had indeed been corrupted by the flames of Chaos, or he lied and the King was merely burnt to ash by them mattered little, for either way he was gone forever. The strong arms that had held her, the brilliant soul that had warmed her, the great heart that had found a way to love even such a forlorn and fragmentary thing as herself, these things were gone forever. Even if the body lived, the man was gone.

For a third time, her "voice" repeated the same word, and rang like a bell with its finality.

 _No._

The demon roared, rearing up on its hind legs. Its burning wings spread wide, and their full expanse swelled from one side of the great hall to the other. Crimson fury coursed the length of its body, pulsing between the stone-like plates of its armor, and flame bubbled in its mouth, spouting to rage along the arches of the ceiling as if they would set the cold white rock alike.

 **"Be damned, then, all of you!"**

It opened its mouth even wider, and the fire of Chaos exploded, a raging bolt of pure energy as wide across as a man was tall, leveled straight at the Oracle. Deric raised his shield, charging forward to try to protect her, even knowing that by the time he took his first step forward it was already too late. The burning wave struck home, surging over her, surrounding her...

...and dying away, untouched.

The Oracle's body seemed limned in darkness. The shadows surged across and over her, flickering as with a black flame that lashed out, greedy, consuming, swallowing up the burning Chaos.

The black fire swelled around her, seething.

She could feel it surging, wild and free, and it _terrified_ her so much she wanted to collapse and hide, not from the burning Chaos but from _herself_. Her fingers clenched down on the hilt of the twisted sword in her hands, the legacy her lord had left to her. He had taken her in, weak and broken, a tainted thing that could only be a curse to his great soul, and had nonetheless gathered her to him and let his light give her shelter from all that would lift a hand against her.

The Oracle's voice echoed in Deric's mind—no, in all minds, arching forth across all of Eleum Loyce, seeking out every building, every corner, every nook and bridge and plaza where battle raged and men and demons alike heard it like a hammer against their souls.

 _You have taken my lord from me_. She _hurled_ it against the raging prince above her. _You have taken my light, my strength, my hope._

 _You have left me with nothing but the fear that made me._

 _Then so be it._

 _I will teach you to fear the Dark!_

Alsanna hurled her soul outward. It didn't so much fly free as it _exploded_ , surging through the streets of Eleum Loyce, following every turn, down every path her mind had blazed, leaving no corner untouched. The Dark raged with every bit as much fury as did the unleashed Chaos, but Alsanna seized it with a will that, in that slender moment, could have broken the world with its force, and _demanded_ that it go where she wilt. It flowed over and around the last, valiant knights, over the great white tiger, past the white-robed servants of the priestesses, past the ice-crystal golems that fought on for masters who no longer stood to command them, and left them one and all untouched. But as for the Chaos, for the greater and lesser demons and for the flames that burned hungrily along walls and ramparts, _those_ it fell upon with the endless hunger of an unfillable void, swallowing them one and all, quenching the Chaos flame with a ruthlessness that tore every scrap of heat from the air, leaving long, spiraling vines of ice that followed the trails and streamers where the rampant fire had once burned.

The burning prince that towered above her towered no more. It was flung away by the raw force of the Dark that burst from her, slammed down onto its back, its life's fire relentlessly, inescapably snuffed out by the frozen Darkness that consumed him along with its brethren. One great hand lifted, trembling, towards the Oracle in a silent plea...

...and then it fell...

...and the streets of Eleum Loyce were still and silent but for the snowy wind that blew, still carrying all of the fury of the Dark with it.

The throne room, too, was still, without even the snow that blew outside. The demon prince was rapidly crumbling, the flameless shell of what had once been a fearsome piece of Chaos falling apart like stone eroding to dust.

Alsanna stood, fixed, as if she would never move again, and it was Deric who at last could not stand the silence any more.

"What..." he began, then steeled himself. "What shall we do now?"

 _My lord is lost to us,_ her voice wept to him. _Even in victory, he could not resist the corrupting touch of the old Chaos. Like the black knights of old, he has been burnt and charred, and cannot return to us. Nor can I go to him, or else the Chaos will burst forth once again._

"Then I—" he began, then broke off. His fellows had ventured within, stood at the King's side in his battles. They were no less valiant than he, and if they had fallen, he would as well. "Not alone," he began again, "but with my fellow knights, with the retainers."

 _We can only wait. Wait for one with a soul as great as my lord's, who can descend into the mouth of Chaos and free him at last. Yet without fire, the curse will fall. Without purpose, the retainers will hollow, mindless but for the thought to defend the streets against anything they see._

Deric swallowed nervously. _The curse_ , he thought. To turn Undead. The curse had already taken root in Eleum Loyce before this. Could the Oracle truly see its spread?

Even if she could, did it matter?

He was a follower of the Ivory King, a knight of Eleum Loyce. He had his lord's example before him. And now, he had king's lady's as well.

He dropped to one knee before her.

"Then we, the last knights of Eleum Loyce, will wait with you, and stand ready to aid the one you foresee. For our duty still lies before us, and if the curse should make of us Undead...well, then it will just mean that we can wait a little longer."

Alsanna smiled at him then. It was a sad smile, cold yet gentle.

 _Very well. Stand by me, then, and so long as the walls of Eleum Loyce yet stand, none shall be able to say that the Ivory King's striving was in vain._


End file.
